


as certain dark things are to be loved

by futureseaempress



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon Asexual Character, M/M, Masturbation, Poetry, Teacher AU, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, jon watches martin get off, martin likes to make up little white lies to their coworkers, post episode 159, safehouse fic, sex neutral asexual, they teach at separate schools, theyre married bc i said so, trans!Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureseaempress/pseuds/futureseaempress
Summary: Jon and Martin have escaped the Institute and are working as teachers at separate schools, hiding out at the safe house. They got married and use false names.They start kissing and Jon admits that he wants to try something new with Martin.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 102





	as certain dark things are to be loved

Jon sauntered into the living room and sat down on the arm of the chair Martin was currently reading in. He was in a house robe and his wet hair was pinned up, letting water droplets fall onto his shoulders and drip down his chest. Martin snaked his arm around Jon’s waist and clapped his hand on Jon’s waist, still not looking up from his book. 

As he leaned into Martin, the former archivist crossed his legs and cleared his throat. Jon took the same tone he had often used at the Institute, but the meaning had changed. Now, instead of disapproval regarding his husband’s work, it was disapproval in the lack of attention he was receiving from him. Martin looked up at him and immediately felt his face flush. Martin thought Jon was astonishing to look at in his nice work clothes and even in his ratty old pajamas, but seeing him dewy and soft pulled at every one of his heartstrings. 

Jon batted his eyelashes, playing completely oblivious to the effect he knew he had on his lovely husband. He reached out to push Martin’s hair aside and lay a kiss on his forehead, and Martin gave his hip a gentle squeeze. Jon eyed the poetry book in Martin’s left hand, skimming what he could read from his current angle. “Tonight I can write the saddest lines,” Jon readout. 

“Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.' The night wind revolves in the sky and sings,” Martin continued.

Jon cut in at the end of the stanza, “Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.” Jon wasn’t one for poetry, but he could recognize more famous works. He scrunched up his nose as he said, “Pablo Neruda? Isn’t he a tad, um, glum?”

Martin let out a chuckle, “I suppose this one is.” He flipped through the book of assorted Neruda poems until he landed on a page titled ‘Sonnet XVII.’

“I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,” Martin read out the first stanza, and Jon buried his face in his hair, more content with Martin’s reading to him than the actual words on the page. 

“I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you,” he clearly knew this poem very well because he reached out and placed Jon’s hand over his heart and laced his fingers through Jon’s as he read the last lines. “So close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.” 

He glanced at him, hungry for approval, and Jon sat up straight to give him a short clap.   
Martin rolled his eyes, “I know you don’t like it, but you could at least pretend.” 

“I’m sorry, love, I did like that poem. Much— it was, less sad, than the first. Much more you.  
Very endearing, kind even.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“I’m serious!” Jon replied as he trailed his hand up from Martin’s chest along his neck and jaw, stopping to touch his chin, his lips, his nose like he was trying to memorize the exact curve and contours that he already knew so well. Martin pulled him down, so he was perched in his lap with ease. Sometimes it shocked Jon just how easily Martin could lift him-- like he was a feather, or something equally as light and delicate. 

Martin knotted one hand into the hair at the base of Jon’s neck, guiding him down for a kiss. Slow enough that Jon could tap out at any time, hide his face, or simply shake his head. He didn’t, though. He met Martin’s lips happily, hungrily, tasting the tea that was now probably going cold on the side table. Martin’s other hand rubbed gentle circles into Jon’s hip. Jon let his hands rest on Martin’s chest, gently pressing into him whenever Martin would give his bottom lip a quick nibble or when their tongues would clash. 

They stayed like that for a while, kissing like a pair of horny teenagers, hands grasping everywhere they could reach and eyes closed. Martin whispered sweet words to Jon’s lips. “You look so beautiful. All soft and warm.”

Jon huffed, knowing better than to argue about his looks but struggling to find the words to describe the perfection that was Martin-- his beautiful, wonderful, kind, thoughtful, petty, funny, poetic Martin. 

“You carry the light of hidden flowers,” Jon tried, quoting the poem he had liked better from earlier. 

His husband laughed, “Leave Neruda out of this.” Still, Martin kissed him hard, wrapping his hands around him firmly so he could tilt them both back, almost falling out of the chair. 

The moment came where they had to pull apart; foreheads pressed together just to catch their breath. They delighted in the shared air they panted between themselves. It was something Martin always took stock of, how long they spent breathing each other in. 

Jon smiled at him, his mouth all red and puffy, and slid his tongue over his lip as he took in the other man’s blown out eyes. Hungry eyes. Martin wiggled under the stare. “Jon,” he started, “I may need to um excuse myself, if that’s alright.”

Jon wasn’t particularly keen on being touched. He’d found he didn’t even enjoy kissing someone if he wasn’t well aware of their feelings and intentions towards him. He liked touching Martin, though. However, when things got passed taking his shirt off, Martin would usually excuse himself to finish privately. There was something bittersweet about it, the faster he riled Martin up, the more pleased he was at his handiwork, but that also meant less time kissing his husband. “Maybe not? I think I want to try something today,” Jon said, pushing Martin’s curls off of his forehead just for them to pop right back into place.

“Oh?” Martin looked nervous as he asked, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“I would like to try watching you, um finish. If that’s alright with you?”

“Oh yeah, of course, Jon, anything you want to try, I’m happy to help.” Martin internally cringed. He hadn’t wanted to sound overeager, so he went as middle of the road as he could, which came out cheesy and lame. 

“I mean, you know I find you incredibly attractive, so if you ever wanted to do more, we could certainly try, but I don’t feel like we need to do anything. Hell it’s early enough we don’t even have to start anything tonight I could just go-”

“Martin,” Jon said with teasing disapproval that snapped his husband back into reality. “I want to see you.” With that, he leaned in and grazed his teeth over Martin’s ear, “I want to see what I can do to you.” Jon’s face was flush in the same way as Martin’s usually was, he wasn’t used to being bold. 

Jon never thought he could be this comfortable with someone. He’d loved Georgie. But he’d never wanted to go any further with her. After he’d gotten used to it, kissing her wasn’t anything more than a show of appreciation. When they’d broken up, Jon had plenty of suitors try and take him home from the bar, but he’d never felt any spark or whatever people were supposed to feel when they’d asked. 

Martin was different. He loved Martin. He’d fled the institute with Martin. He’d married Martin. 

Now after a few joyful months, he wanted to start testing his limits with Martin.

“Okay,” Martin said, voice a few octaves higher than it should be. With one fluid movement, he’d caught Jon’s lips and taken his breath away. Jon tugged at Martin’s hair before breaking the kiss to tiptoe back to their bedroom. Martin was on his feet, tripping over himself the whole way. Jon smirked and laid back on the bed, spreading his legs to let Martin lay between them with his back pressed to Jon’s chest. 

Martin hesitated, he felt like he was going to push the air out of Jon’s lungs. Not to mention his heart was racing at the thought of Jon seeing him, while his brain feared actively disgusting his husband. All it took to clear his mind and speed up his heart was one look from Jon. He dropped his t-shirt and joggers quickly and pulled himself into Jon’s lap.

“That’s right, so perfect for me,” Jon said in Martin’s ear, his face still radiating heat that matched the red splotches that covered Martin’s whole body. 

“So beautiful,” Jon peppered kisses all over Martin’s shoulder. As if he was trying to kiss every freckle he found. He ran his hands up the length of Martin’s arms. 

Martin shivered. 

“My Martin,” Jon said with a final kiss to his shoulder before moving to his neck. 

“Fuck” Martin moaned as Jon sucked beautiful bruises into his throat. 

“Oh dear. I’ve forgotten how easily you bruise love, seems everyone is going to see what I’ve done to you.” Martin made a punched out sound as he melted into the man behind him. 

Jon gave his shoulder a light nibble before he continued, “No telling what the other teachers will say about us.” He paused momentarily, “You’re awfully quiet up there love, do you remember the rest of that poem? Do you think you could recite it to me?”

“Maybe another time,” Martin answered, letting his hand slip below his waistband. 

Jon made a grumbled sound into Martin’s neck. “My adonis,” Jon started, making the heat in Martin’s stomach burn due to the affection. “I asked to watch you, and you’re hiding from me.” 

Jon let his thumbs hook under the waistband, “May I do the honors?”

“Yes,” Martin answered, lifting off the bed to let Jon slide the undergarment down his legs. 

“Much better,” Jon said as they settled again, his chin balanced on Martin’s shoulder with the perfect view. “I can see all of you this way.” Jon ghosted a hand up from the swell of Martin’s belly, to his chest, and back down again. “How’d I get so lucky to have met such a wonderful man? Kind. Giving. Always giving. Beautiful. So smart. Reads me lovely poems,” Jon gave his neck a long kiss before the last point of, “Letting me watch.” 

“Jon,” Martin dragged the one-syllable name into three, grasping at Jon’s thighs. 

“Yes, love?” Jon said as he squeezed Martin’s hips then trailed up Martins back. 

“Thank you for this. Keep talking to me, please?” It was more of a question than demand.

“Oh my adonis, always so polite, making such sweet noises for me.” Jon cleared his throat before he brought himself to ask, “Are you wet for me, Martin?” 

Martin’s hand, finally having a task to do, drifted between his legs to his entrance, where he found himself soaked. He gasped, earning an amused hum from Jon. 

Jon’s voice on its own stoked the coals Martin felt in his belly, but getting this much attention and love from Jon fanned the flame more than he could have ever imagined. Jon trailed his hands down Martin’s chest, belly, hips, and stopped to rub little circles into his thighs. 

Martin shivered, allowing his hand to coast around his cock, before drifting down between his folds. 

“So beautiful, like the most wonderful painting I’ve ever seen. I could hang you on the wall and admire you all day.”

“Thought I was the poet,” Martin grunted as he took one of his fingers. 

“Oh, you are! I can turn a phrase but you, my adonis, you are the artist.”

Martin added a finger and scissored himself open. He rubbed his cock with his thumb and crooked his fingers inside, rocking himself forward on his hand. 

“How do you feel Martin?”

“Amazing, glad you’re here.” Martin usually did this alone, thinking about Jon’s lips on his, how his hair looked in the sunlight versus how it looked wet, how it felt to press kisses to Jon’s collarbones. He thought about the way Jon would hang off his arm at faculty meetings and act like his trophy husband in front of his colleagues. 

Jon’s pinched Martin’s sides, getting a hum out of him as he quickened his pace. His thoughts were all consumed by Jon, his voice, the look on his face when Martin kissed the breath out of him. 

“Nowhere I’d rather be. You look so good like this, darling.” 

Sooner than he was ready, Martin’s body tensed up as he tipped over the edge. Feeling nothing but heat, that mind dizzying heat, as he came on his hand. 

“Amazing work, love,” Jon cooed into his ear. He nudged Martin to turn around in his arms. They held each other, Jon stroking Martin’s hair. 

“You were amazing. Loved having you here.” Martin sighed. “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Jon said. “Martin.”

“Hm?”

“Do you think you wanna read that first Neruda poem to me?” 

“In the morning,” he replied, as he was already half asleep. 

“Okay love,” Jon kissed his cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Martin yawned as he said it, and like that he was out. It always shocked Jon how quickly Martin was able to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The poems featured in this work are Pablo Neruda's.   
> https://www.poemhunter.com/pablo-neruda/


End file.
